England vs The Till
by Fire Bear1
Summary: America is coming to visit so England goes shopping so he can be the perfect host - unfortunately he comes across a formidable foe.


_**This accidentally became a homage to Tekken.**_

_**I came up with this silly thing when I was using a self-service checkout to buy a bottle of juice in WH Smith earlier this week and I kind of just thought that it would be funny if England had to go up against it.**_

* * *

Round One

The queue in the supermarket wasn't too long but there was only one person on the manned tills, the slow teenager scanning the items one by one. Alternatively, the self-service checkouts were available. A security guard was directing people to each till as they became free to use.

England prayed that it would be the boy when he got to the front.

Unfortunately for the nation, he found himself being sent to one of the machines to do it himself. He sighed as he set his basket down and grabbed at the jar of coffee – the only reason he was there.

America had called in the middle of the night to let him know he was coming to visit to help England 'get over being so boring'. Since he had been woken to be told this, England spent the next half an hour tossing and turning, envisioning various methods by which to curse him. Maybe he'd turn his hamburgers into something disgusting or make his coffee forever cold.

As it was, though, when England finally woke up, he noted that he had long since thrown out the last jar of coffee he had bought for one of America's visits. He still hated the drink but he was a gentleman and a gentleman was always a good host. Even if their guests didn't appreciate it.

Unfortunately, England didn't have a coffee machine, something America constantly complained about. This, of course, meant that the idiot had to make do with instant coffee which was also moaned about. And so England had gone shopping, hoping to make it a quick trip so he could return home before going to pick up the loud git.

Sighing, England tapped the screen where it said Start. He immediately was asked whether he had his own bag. It wasn't in his habit to carry around old carrier bags or cloth bags for these sorts of shopping trips so he hit the No. Then, finally, he could start scanning, as the feminine robotic voice told him.

He waved the jar in front of the scanner. There was no response and the item wasn't listed. Gritting his teeth, he tried again. And again. Then he tried setting it on its side so the bottom scanner could pick it up. He sighed in relief when there was a beep and the item came up.

Next, he leaned over to the bags and struggled to get one open wide enough to shove the jar in there. He barely disguised his jolt of surprise as the till spoke to him once more. "Please put the item in the bagging area." There was even an animation to illustrate what it meant.

"Yes, I'm trying," muttered England, irritably. The plastic kept slipping from his fingers, refusing to open.

"Please put the item in the-"

"Fine!" snapped England and slammed the jar onto the metal base. The till registered the weight and stopped speaking, the list of items appearing again. "Tsk!" England continued to scan the rest of his shopping, putting them in the vicinity of the coffee jar and hoping that it wouldn't start talking to him again.

Eventually, he came to his apples which he placed on the scanner and chose the option for loose items and then the fruit. He had to scroll through to find the one he was wanting but, when he pressed the correct button, it made an irritating noise and the light above the till turned red.

Annoyed, England glanced round and found the security guard heading in his direction. The man tapped a button, typed in a number and then the till seemed to settle and returned to his list of items. Without speaking, the man disappeared to help the person next to him and he placed the apples beside the rest with a small growl. This was ridiculous – why should the self-service tills require a person to supervise them? That defeated the purpose!

He hit Finish and Pay and was asked whether he would be taking a bag for one pence. For a moment, he stared blankly at it. Couldn't they have asked that at the start? England nearly put his finger through the screen as he jabbed at the Yes option. The machine took him to the screen for the options of paying and England quickly hit Cash before it could speak again.

Since the entire trip cost him £16, he pulled a £20 note out of his wallet and gently pushed it into the slot. Nothing happened for a moment and he growled as he shoved it in further. Finally, the machine pulled it from his hand – only for it to spit it back out.

"For fuck's sake!" he exclaimed. The outburst attracted the attention of the people around him and the security guard approached. Seeing the problem, the man turned the note over, pushed it in – and the bloody machine accepted it!

"Please take your receipt and change. Notes are dispensed below the scanner." The machine sounded far too cheerful and condescending for England's taste and he had to resist shouting at it. Instead, he gathered his change and the receipt, slipping them into his wallet and stuffing it into his back pocket. Then he had to hurriedly pack the bag as the machine urged him to do so and the people in the queue scowled and sighed pointedly.

England could tell it was going to be a bad day.

* * *

Round Two

"Fucking Frog. Why did the bastard have to come over today, too. He was already here yesterday and drank me out of wine – tosser."

Grumbling under his breath, England slipped into the end of the queue, his basket filled with ingredients France had demanded he bring back and the obligatory bottle of wine. He was in a different shop, hoping to avoid the self-service tills again. Unfortunately, his luck was absolutely crap today: first America had complained about the coffee then France had appeared to bother him and now...

Now he was faced once again with someone telling him to go to a self-service till which had just become available.

"Fuck," he mumbled and approached the offensive machine. He dropped the basket onto the shelf without caring for the delicacy of the contents.

To begin with, everything went surprisingly well. After getting past the initial process of pressing on the screen, he managed to scan all of the items until, finally, he came to the bottle of wine. At this, he paused and stared at the intimidating tag attached to it. Then he flicked his eyes over the offending machine. He could see nowhere to take it off.

Intelligently, he said, "Fuck!"

Glancing around, he noticed that the sales assistant who had ushered him here had disappeared. There was only one person now handling all the customers and there was some sort of a problem with the current one. Clicking his tongue, he scanned the bottle anyway and waited for someone to come help him.

Five minutes later, he was still waiting and was beginning to curse up a storm. Finally, he said, "Fuck it!" and stormed from the supermarket. France could stuff his stupid shopping.

* * *

Round Three

"For fuck's sake, Francis! Why the hell can't you just go back to your God forsaken country and leave me in peace?"

"Where would the fun in that be?"

"Dude, can we hurry it up? I'm still exhausted from the flight."

"Well, if you were so bloody exhausted why didn't you _stay in the house_?! We certainly don't need you to come blundering around this fucking place!"

"Ah, ah, ah, Artie! Language! Besides, you're obviously doing it wrong and need the hero to help you!"

"I hate you. I hate those _fucking_ tills. Please let me wake up from this nightmare."

"Now, now, Sourcils. Do not be so dramatic."

England simply sighed. When he had left the supermarket, he hadn't expected to be wrangled into returning – _with_ America and France. However, when he mentioned that the ingredients he had in his house would only make _British_ cuisine, both America and France had ganged up on him. So his day was getting worse. But, of course, for England's damned luck, they returned to the small supermarket he had been in the second time.

Where he had left a basket of shopping at a till.

Evidently it had been removed and the items restocked as they ended up at _the same damn till_. And, this time, it wasn't even because of a queue.

"Ooh, hey!" cried America. "You've got these! Awesome! Let's use one – it'll be quicker."

"Oh, God. No. We'll just-" But America had already rushed off, taking the basket with him. England sighed. "The world hates me," he muttered as he approached.

"I can't find the thingy," said America with a pout.

"Here: let me," said England, sighing as he took the packaged herb from him. Flipping it over, he scanned it and dropped it onto the metal plate.

"Be careful!" cried France. "You will damage it."

"I really don't give a shit."

"Artie," whined America. "Language."

"Just get on with it," England snarled, glaring at him.

"Here, then." America handed him the next item and England scanned it. Before he could drop it down, France took it and placed it gently beside the herb. When England turned back to the basket, he found America handing him the next item. France took it from him again and England felt his eyebrow twitch.

"Are we really doing this?" he growled.

"Yup!"

"Oui."

"For fuck's sake."

"Artie!"

"Sod off."

"You're so mean! I came to visit you, y'know!" America pouted. England stared back at him blankly. "So you need to behave." England merely blinked in response. America seemed to give up. "Oh, hey. This thing's in a bag."

"Yes," said England, taking a deep breath. The lemons were indeed in a bag and he had a certain sense of foreboding that this shopping trip was going to go to hell fairly soon. Snatching the fruit from America, England dumped the bag onto the scanner and jabbed at the Fruit button. He was about to jab the appropriate button (the till was cooperating! He could feel his anger fading a little) when America grabbed his wrist.

"Wait. Ain't _that_ what we got?" he asked, pointing at a similar product.

"What are you-?"

"Oui. America is correct, Rosbif."

"Stop calling me those fucking names!" exclaimed England as America jabbed what they thought was the right button. There was a horrible beeping noise. "Shit!"

"Aww. What happened?" asked America.

"I don't know!" England snapped at him even as an assistant hurried forward to help out. They tapped a few buttons and then disappeared. England wasn't even sure what they had done.

"Well, that's that sorted." America was being far too cheerful for England's liking. "Here."

Taking the next item, England scanned it – but it didn't register. Cursing, he tried again – and again and again before turning the item over. Glaring at it, he noticed that the plastic packaging around the outside had crumpled the paper within it, distorting the barcode slightly. He tried to straighten it out.

"Oh, hey, let me help!" came a shout in England's right ear. The cake (why were they even buying this? In fact, when had it been put in the basket? America, that sneaky bastard...) was snatched from his hands and the idiot began to stretch at the plastic.

"Don't do that! You'll rip it. And then- Oh, for-! Alfred! Look what you did, you dolt!" For America had indeed ripped the plastic. With a shrug the stupid git straightened out the paper and tried to scan it. Still no luck.

"You are doing it wrong," drawled France. "Let moi." And the cake was exchanged hands. After some messing about, they finally managed to scan it and they continued to the last item.

The bottle of wine.

"Oh, God," Arthur sighed, knowing this wouldn't end well. Although... There was no giant tag so, perhaps, they would have more luck this time. He started to pray silently, letting America scan it instead.

There was a beep and the item came up – along with a large box telling them to wait for an assistant. An assistant who, apparently, had buggered off to do God knows what instead of their _fucking job._

At this point, England gave up. With a loud, "Fuck everything!" he stormed from the shop.

"Oh, hey, Artie?" America darted after him.

"I see he has lost the battle once more," France commented as he followed England and America. He paused at the manned till, looking the poor, startled employee over. "Desolé, chéri," he told the young man, smiling seductively. "My friend has an awful temper-"

"Francis!" shouted America from the door. "Come _on_! I think Artie's gonna lock us outta the house!"

Sighing, Francis obliged, excusing himself with a quick "Pardon." He left the shop and hoped that England was still gentleman enough to go to another shop at the very least. After all, poking fun of his neighbour was so much better with a glass of wine.

* * *

K.O.!

The Till wins!

* * *

**_So, yeah, it may not be exact because I'm going from memory.  
_**

**_I don't really have anything to say about this... Maybe I should apologise? ^^"_**


End file.
